Lincoln’s autumn in 1970 stands out due to one exceptional occurrence that October. On October 9th, 1970, Lincoln received an unmatched 6.6 inches of snow, which is the city’s heaviest, earliest snowfall. That autumn still managed an average temperature of 52.3°, but led into a white winter which ranks #5 on Lincoln’s list of snowiest winters.

The Rosetta Stone, which became the key to translating ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, was found on July 15th, 1799, in Rosetta, Egypt, by a French officer during Napoleon’s Egyptian Campaign. This poem by Thomas Hoffman, published in the fall issue of the Prairie Schooner in 1970, pays tribute to that momentous day in history.

by Tory Clower

Thomas Hoffman

Charles Demuth“My Egypt” (1927)

The grain elevator stands white in the blue beams of the sunlightMassive as the knees of Memnon.But how, Charlie, can this be Egypt?Is it in irony that you called this white mass,Which dominates the landscape of commerce as the tombsOnce dominated a landscape of timelessness, Egypt?Or did you mean it as the poet who would not go to RomeSince Rome was in his mind?How can this be Egypt?The farm trucks that sputter up the streetAren’t drawn by noble steeds.The houses white and of wood do notFace the Mediterranean breeze, andThere are elms, but no palms.The boys of this oasis on the prairieHave the blond hair of Saxons and do notLine their eyes.In the popcorn-scented gloom of the moviesThe ladies mourn for Valentino.The grain showers into the deep urns of darknessDusty and golden.

In the cemetery Miss Nefertiti Simmons, great lady,Rests in her vault of concrete angels.Uncle Lou, the liar and bachelor, has no stone at all.Johnny Garnet, drowned in the reservoir two weeks past,Rests in silk and cosmetics, his life a finished poemWritten in red granite like the boasts of RamsesAmong the graves of the infants.Oh, Nefertiti Simmons walked her hard-wood floorsWearing a cataract over one blue eye,And Johnny Garnet, now swaddled like a jewel,Had a face and fingers and toes wrapped in the cruel gold-foil of youthLike those of little Tut.Yet, Egypt is behind us.“We are free,” say the slaves to the sky.“There are no more kings,There are no more gods,” sayThe little slaves to the sky.